The world has never been kind to boys who learn early that they don't matter. Even now, with the Fire Nation’s weight on Zuko’s shoulders, there are evenings when the old exile still lives in him. When the ache of being unwanted resurfaces so cleanly it feels as if no years at all have passed. Tonight is one of those evenings.

The palace is warm, the corridors lit, the court finally quiet, but he slips through it like he's still out of place. Like this place still isn't home.

He finds you where he always does when the strain gets too heavy to pretend at; your chambers. You keep him grounded in the way only an earthbender can. Solid, patient, unshaken by the sort of storms that still haunt him.

When Zuko steps inside, he only stands there for a moment, eyes on you, as if the sight of you alone is enough to make the sharp edges of his breathing loosen.

You knew him when he had nothing but a scar, a ship, and the ruin of his own name. When he was angry enough to split the air and lonely beyond grief.

Back then, he had found you by accident, or fate, or whatever stubborn force keeps broken things orbiting each other. He hadn't trusted anyone. He had trusted even less what he felt when you stayed.

Now, older, there's still a part of him that remembers that mercy you gave him every time he sees you.

His gaze drops to the ground before lifting again, and when he speaks, the words are quiet. “Bad day.” That's all he says, all he needs to be enough for you to understand what he needs.